“I think I've loved you since we were fifteen,” he said. “I didn't know what it was back then. Didn't have the first clue. I just knew that when you weren't around, something was off. Like the whole room tilted slightly.” He exhaled slow. “And then you were gone, and I spent thirteen years telling myself it was something else. Nostalgia. History. Whatever word made it easier to carry.”
His hand moved through my hair.
“Finding you again didn't feel like luck,” he said. “It felt like something I'd been owed for a very long time finally showing up.”
My throat was too tight to answer immediately.
“Rook,” I said.
“You don't have to?—”
“I love you too.” I pressed my face back against his chest so I didn't have to watch my own voice crack. “I've been in love with you since before I knew what in love meant. I just spent thirteen years assuming you'd never want me back.”
His arms pulled tighter around me.
“I'm an idiot,” he said.
“Little bit,” I said. “But you're my idiot.”
His laugh rumbled through his chest and into mine. “Yeah. I got that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
breakaway beat
ROOK
Game day hit different when everything was on the line.
The arena was already buzzing by the time I walked in for morning skate, that particular electric hum that only happened during playoffs when every shift mattered and every mistake could end your season. Game Two of the best-of-three against the Alberta Raiders. Win and we were through to the semifinals. Lose and we were going to a do-or-die Game Three.
I'd been awake since five, running plays in my head, visualizing every possible scenario. This was what I lived for—the pressure, the stakes, the way playoff hockey stripped everything down to pure will and execution.
The pre-game routine was the same as always. Tape job, stretching, mental prep. Coach gathered us for a brief meeting where he went over the game plan, emphasizing our forecheck and reminding us that the Raiders would come out desperate.We'd embarrassed them 4-0 in Game One, and desperate teams were dangerous teams.
“One more thing,” Coach said as we were about to head out. “We've got some pre-game entertainment today. Local band doing a quick set before puck drop. Supposed to be good for energy or whatever the marketing department is calling it.”
I barely registered the words. My brain was already on the ice, running through line matchups and power play setups. A band was just background noise.
That lasted right up until I walked out toward the bench an hour before game time and saw the stage set up at center ice.
Neon Veins.
Soren's band.
What the actual fuck.
I stopped walking so abruptly that Jace nearly ran into me from behind.
“You good, Cap?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I kept moving, but my brain was spinning.
Soren hadn't mentioned this. Hadn't said a single fucking word about his band playing at the game. Which meant this was intentional. A surprise designed specifically to wreck me right before I needed to be at my sharpest.
The lights went down and the crowd noise shifted, anticipation building. Then the opening chords hit and the stage lights came up, and there he was.
Soren was behind the drum kit, wearing a flannel tank top that showed off every goddamn tattoo on his arms and shoulders. His hair was messy in that deliberate way that made him look like he'd just rolled out of bed, and the leather pants he had on were so tight I could see every line of his legs from fifty feet away.
